Morrissey / Roundhouse, London
Frog in his throat
Words Emily Mackay / Image(s) Rebecca Miller
Here we see Marquess of Tristesse, Steven Patrick Morrissey, literally moments before he wheezed his way offstage and, on doctors orders, out of his planned six-night residency at Camden’s Roundhouse. Corroded throat-pipes, they said. Those of us lucky to see the first show, however, were treated to a spirited, even bolshie, set that started with a fiery ‘How Soon Is Now?’, during which Mozza writhed all over the drum-riser in a most unseemly fashion. He also dredged up such back-catalogue treats as ‘Stretch Out And Wait’ and ‘Death Of A Disco Dancer’ and played four new songs that promised more of a left-field approach than the rather ploddy Ringleader Of The Tormentors. His performance was barely marred by any broken notes, perhaps more so by the bizarre grunting and hacking noises he kept making in an attempt to clear the frog in his throat. “And I don’t mean a small French person,” he added, less Wildean wit than your granddad trying to be funny. Jokes about the French? YOU MASSIVE RACIST, MORRISSEY! Will we sell a few more issues now? Oh wait, we’re a free paper.
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